


play out a spell in your sequence of chords (to inspire and sharpen our rusted swords)

by AceSailorKoshkaRayn



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, I have taken cannon out back and shot it in the head, M/M, MAJOR CANNON DIVERGENCE, Major Cannon Non-Compliance, Mild Blood/Gore, Slow Burn, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer just wants love, and Geralt is like 'you're fuckin' insane but okay', and makes some maybe poor choices, and that's adorable, but we love her anyway, except Jaskier is like 'i love you' basically instantly, he's a himbo thats for sure, if slightly sad, imma be real this like like 100 self indulgent bullshit, jaskier is a feral bastard and that's okay, this could be argued to be, this is NOT a Yen hate fic, this man talks to animals more than he does humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23407339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceSailorKoshkaRayn/pseuds/AceSailorKoshkaRayn
Summary: Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear."I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 61
Kudos: 2278





	play out a spell in your sequence of chords (to inspire and sharpen our rusted swords)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have fallen into another fandom! I am not sorry!  
> Most of my knowledge of The Witcher comes from fanfiction and the first book, which is all I have read so far, and I am not ashamed of that.  
> Also, I am not a song-writer, and only vaguely a poet, so please don't laugh at the songs I wrote :c
> 
> Title from "Traveler's Song" by the Aviators. I've got a fairly short Fae!Jaskier playlist on youtube, just lmk if you want a link or smth.

Geralt cocked his head to the side curiously to regard the chittering fox caught in the hunter's trap. The beast had deep chestnut fur and eerily bright blue eyes. He knelt, and the creature hissed at him, baring his teeth in fear.

"I mean you no harm," he rumbled, hands palm-up. His swords were at his campsite, regardless. He reached forward slowly, and the fox didn't move, though it's teeth remained bared. It was a simple matter to pry open the trap, and the fox leapt away, chattering its teeth at him. Their eyes met for a long moment, amber to fantastical blue, and the fox dashed off.

Sighing faintly, hands resting on his knees, Geralt bowed his head tiredly. He rolled his neck to crack it, and rose to his feet to shuffle his way back to his camp.

Set out neatly next to his bedroll were three cleanly gutted rabbits, and Geralt paused in surprise. Roach whinnied softly, and stamped a hoof. A crown of golden wheat rested primly between her ears.

Ah. Fae, then. Services paid for services rendered. Hopefully the fae would consider them even, now, but something in him doubted it.

A stray dog trotted up to him in town, tongue lolling joyfully out of the side of its mouth.

"Dog," Geralt said flatly, coming to a halt to stare it down. The dog yipped playfully, shaking it's head and dropping into a playing position. "I'm not- I don't have time," he said, and was almost genuinely regretful. He dug a strip of jerky out of one of his pouches, tossing it to the dog.

Catching it, the dog snapped it up and grinned at him, Geralt would swear it. The canine had...oddly familiar intense blue eyes.

The dog trotted after him to the alderman's house, dropping to a halt at Roach's feet.

Geralt arched a dubious eyebrow, but shrugged. He had business to attend to.

The dog was still waiting for him when he walked out, muzzle draped primly over his paws.

Geralt hummed a greeting, leaning down to ruffle the dog's long, floppy ears.

The dog whuffled eagerly, rolling onto its back to receive stomach scratches.

Smiling faintly, Geralt scrubbed both hands over the dog's warm belly, ignoring the looks from passerby. "You are a lovely boy, aren't you?" he hummed, pleased. "Aren't you so well behaved?" He took a few moments to lavish the dog with attention, before it seemed to get bored and squirmed to its feet, jumping forward to press a sloppy lick to Geralt's face. Grimacing, Geralt stood and wiped the drool off, fixing the dog with a dry look. "That was rude," he grunted, slipping Roach's lead off the post.

The dog barked and raced off, then back, bouncing excitedly.

The dog stayed when Geralt left. Geralt tried not to think too much about it.

"You're not going to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting, are you?"

Geraly arched a slow eyebrow at the bard leaning against the pillar.

"C'mon, give us a review," he smiled, sliding onto the edge of the table and leaning forward. "Three words or less."

"...They don't exist," Geralt said flatly, fingers tightening around his tankard.

"Hmm?" The bard cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes sparkling.

"The creatures, in your songs," Geralt tossed his head to the lute the man had slung across his back. "They don't exist."

"Ooh, and I suppose you would know, wouldn't you!" the man laughed, delighted. "White hair, broody face, I bet I would recognise you anywhere!"

Geralt grit his teeth, already knowing where this was going.

"Geralt, White Wolf of Rivia!" the man slapped his hands together and crowed excitedly.

Frowning, Geralt asked, "white wolf? I am not broody, either."

"Could have fooled me," the bard giggled, propping himself on one hand and leaning much too far into Geralt's space. "And of course," he reached forward, quick as lighting, to tug on a lock of Geralt's hair.

Jerking back, Geralt scowled. "Wolves have teeth," he snarled, flashing his, "and don't like little boys butting into their space."

Laughing, the bard finally leaned back. "I think you have the smell of grand adventure around you," he practically purred, and slid off the table.

The bard was an idiot, Geralt was sure of it. More than a few cards short of a full deck. He was _giggling_ only a few short hours after the thing with the elves, strumming giddily on the new lute that he had somehow managed to wheedle from the _fucking king_ and practically dancing as he walked.

"I've got an idea for a brilliant little ditty," Jaskier, that was his name, nearly sang, spinning in spot with his excitement. "Oh, how should I go, how should I go- _oh_ !" He laughed, flashing bright blue eyes at Geralt. He hummed, warming up. " _When a humble bard, graced a ride along, with Geralt of Rivia, along came this song_ -"

"That is _not_ how it happened," Geralt grunted, for some reason not kicking his horse to a faster trot.

"Creative license, dear," Jaskier declared effusively, waving a hand. "And besides, if normal humans thought those lovely people were still alive all your efforts would be to not."

Geralt hummed, not wanting to admit that the bard maybe had a point.

"Ooh, ouchie," Jaskier hummed, moving to stick his finger in his mouth.

Geralt leapt forward, catching his hand and yanking it away. "Idiot!"

"Oh, rude, it's not like I _meant_ -" Jaskier began huffily, yelping when Geralt dragged him bodily over to where his canteen was sitting.

Pouring water over the small cut, Geralt fastidiously wiped it with a corner of his sleeve until it was clean, then crouched in front of the fire to stare at it closely, ignoring Jaskier's outraged protesting.

"What on _earth_ -! Geralt!" Jaskier tugged fruitlessly, squawking when he was pulled to the ground.

"Does it burn?" Geralt asked seriously, turning his hand back and forth. A slow line of blood dripped from the cut, but nothing worse.

"I- no?" Jaskier frowned. "It tingled for a second, but I think you washed it off quickly enough."

After a beat, Geralt grunted, and finally released him.

Immediately, Jaskier popped his finger in his mouth, wrinkling his nose when Geralt gave him a disgusted look. "Wha'?"

"Toxic oil," Geralt growled, stomping over to pick up his dagger from where Jaskier had been examining it, quickly shoving it back into its sheathe. "Don't touch -kills humans even faster than it kills beasts."

"...Ah," Jaskier's nose wrinkled. "How unpleasant."

"Don't touch my blades," Geralt told him seriously. "How the fuck did you even grab it?"

Jaskier only smiled beautifically and wiggled the fingers of his free hand, still sucking on the bleeding one.

"Hello, my dearest, darling Witcher-"

"No," Geralt growled, sinking deeper into the bathtub. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"Oh, hear me out!" Jaskier chirped, whirling around the room behind him. He hummed, voice rising and falling. "Wine, women, song, you know how it goes."

Geralt grunted, tipping his head back against the lip of the tub. "Sounds like a bad idea."

"I _never_ \- well, okay, I _rarely_ have bad ideas," Jaskier laughed, throwing a pinch of salt into the bath. "And anyway, even _you_ can't say that you'd hate a night of simple carousing, drinking your fill -all the ale and food your Witchery heart desires!"

"The more you talk the more I'll say no," Geralt frowned, cracking one eye open to peer at the man. "Point, bard."

Jaskier sighed, and slumped onto a short stool near the bath. "I've been requested at the Cintran c- uh, castle," he said, propping his chin on his fist on the lip of the bath. "To play for the princess's betrothal. I just need you to be my, ah, escort, bodyguard if you prefer, to this little soiree, to protect me from… Well, you know. Husbands, wives, that sort of thing."

"Why should I," Geralt arched an eyebrow.

"...Free food?" Jaskier wrinkled his nose and cocked his head to the side. "Come now, Geralt, what's worth more than spending one night with your best friend in the whole wide world at a truly fantastic party?"

"You're not my friend, and I hate parties," Geralt scoffed, shaking his head.

"All I need you to do is stand there and look grumpy," Jaskier tittered. "Yes, exactly like that!"

Geralt rolled his eyes, reaching for his ale. "I'm not killing anyone; I'm not getting involved in the scores of petty men."

"Yes yes," Jaskier reached out and patted his shoulder as he stood, sidling behind him to fiddle with a folded set of clothes on the low dresser. "You don't get involved, except when you do, which is _all_ of the time." He circled back around, picking up bottles and setting them down again without being opened. "Is this what happens when you get old? You get _unbearably_ crotchety and cantankerous? Bells blessings, I'm glad I'm nothing like that. Actually!" he cut himself off, spinning to face Geralt before the Witcher could wonder too much what on _earth_ that was supposed to mean. "I've always wondered- what happens when Witchers get old? Can Witchers get old? Retire? Have a nice little farm somewhere-?"

"No, just slow, and then they die," Geralt took a pointed sip of his ale.

"Come now, you must want _something_ for yourself after...all this," Jaskier waved his hand, indicating most likely everything about Geralt.

"I want nothing," Geralt said, and drained his mug. "Except more ale."

"...Well," Jaskier pursed his lips, crouching at the edge of the bath and dipping his fingers lightly in. "Perhaps someone out there will want _you_."

Geralt scowled, and looked away. "I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me."

"And yet," the corner of Jaskier's mouth curled up in a wry, almost pained looking little smile. "Here we are."

Geralt scowled at the goat that seemed to be staring at him. "What?" he snarled, fingers tightening on his net. "Get lost, beastie, I don't need you judging me!"

The goat calmly chewed its cud, dropping its head to pull a few more leaves off the berry bush.

Geralt snorted, casting his net again. And again. And again, until-

"Ha!" he crowed, hauling the net towards him.

A hard skull butted into the back of his thigh, making him stumble and drop the fishing net.

Geralt swore, kicking at the creature. "I said get lost!" he snarled, staring the creature in its peculiar eyes. He would swear the goat was judging him.

The goat bleated, staring him down. It stepped forward as Geralt did, resting one cloven hoof on the net.

"What, you want a djinn as well?" Geralt scoffed, scowling. "Stop that," he said, grabbing the net.

The goat didn't budge, seemingly planting itself even further.

"I will eat you," Geralt told him, yanking at the net. "You're probably too old to be tasty but it will have been worth it. Get off the net."

The goat bent down, hooked the net around its horns, and took off running, jerking the net out of Geralt's hands and sending him face-planting into the mud.

"Oi!" Geralt roared, slamming his palms against the ground. "Get back here you imp!" He snapped to his feet and bolted after the wretched creature, snarling under his breath.

The goat, for its size, left nearly no trail, and was apparently much faster than Geralt.

Rounding a tree, Geralt slammed into a much slighter body, and both bounced to the ground.

"Oh, a _fine_ greeting _that_ is," the other groaned from the forest floor. "Bells, I think I'm broken!"

"Bard!" Geralt was already on his feet, whipping around to scan the underbrush. No sign. _Damn_ , surely not a normal beast to have disappeared so thoroughly. "Have you seen a goat?"

"A- a _goat_ ?" Jaskier sputtered a laugh, half-propped up and staring at Geralt like he'd lost his mind. "My dear, dear Witcher, what on earth makes you think I've seen a goat? Why would a goat be _here_? We're miles from any good pasture land."

"Stole something from me," Geralt growled, lifting his nose to the air. Nothing but those _infernal_ perfumes the bard liked to wear, Melitele's tits. "I need it back."

"Was it perhaps your mind?" Jaskier grumbled, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off. "What the blessed bells did it steal that's got you so worked up, anyhow? I can't imagine that it made off with one of your _swords_ or something, no goat is that smart-"

"A djinn," Geralt interrupted, throwing his hands up and stalking back to where he'd tethered Roach.

"A dj- a _djinn_ ?" Jaskier's voice could go surprisingly high when the occasion called for it. "A _djinn_ , Geralt, darling Witcher, what in the name of the seven layers could you want a _djinn_ for?!"

"I can't- I can't sleep!" Geralt snarled, searching the brush for any sign he might have missed. Nothing. It was like the goat had never even existed to begin with. "I can't _sleep_!" he roared, throwing his hands up and stumbling half a step to the side as his vision flickered. Fuck.

Instantly, Jaskier was in front of him, hands wavering placatingly at Geralt's sides. "A djinn, I don't think, would be the best solution to your problem, fair Witcher," he soothed, taking Geralt's hand in his own. "Ease, dearest, ease," he hummed, his voice slipping low and soothing. "Let's get you set somewhere and I'll see if I can think of something."

"No silly _song_ is going to help," Geralt grumbled, but allowed himself to be led back to Roach's tree and pushed to sit at the base.

"Oh, you've never heard one of my lullabies, dear," Jaskier sang, flipping his lute case off his back and pulling the instrument out. "Now, now, _patience, my dear, my dear,_ " he purred, voice soft and sweet. "Yes, that's a good one.

" _Patience, my dear, my dear, the sun will rise again soon; patience, my sweet, my sweet, we will meet again when morning is new. Stillness, my dear, my dear, I'll sing for you til the rising of dew; stillness, my sweet, my sweet, you'll sing for me and our words will ring true. Sit with me awhile, my dear, rest with me awhile, a while; sleep near me for now, my dear, sing with me awhile, awhile…_ "

“ _Oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn, I see you, I see you; oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn, I hear you, I hear you. Oh djinn, oh djinn, speak to me, speak to me; djinn, oh djinn, talk with me, talk with me. Tell me what pleases you djinn, oh djinn; tell me what pleases you djinn, oh djinn. You want no master, need no friend; need no master, want no friend. Oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn, I see you, I see you; oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn,I hear you, I hear you. Oh djinn, oh djinn, speak to me, speak to me; djinn, oh djinn, talk with me, talk with me. Peaceful departures oh djinn, oh djinn; peaceful departures of djinn, oh djinn. You have no master, I am your friend; you’ll have no master until the end. Oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn, farewell, farewell; oh djinny-djinn, oh djinny-djinn, farewell, farewell, farewell._ ”

Geralt crawled toward awareness feeling possibly more well-rested than he had in several months. “What the _fuck_ , Jaskier.”

The bard cut off his careful humming with a strange rattle, jolting. “Uh- Geralt! Um, good morning, sleeping beauty!”

“How fucking long have I been sleeping?” Geralt growled, pushing himself into an upright position. He squinted at the bard, who was sitting beside a man with earth-dark skin and ink-black hair. “The fuck.”

“It is only a small while past dawn,” the stranger said smoothly, gifting Geralt with a small, amused smile. “Be at ease, Witcher; I mean you no harm.”

“That’s what they always say,” Geralt huffed, frowning at where Jaskier seemed to be picking the locks on a set of solid gold hobbles adorning the man’s ankles.

The hobbles were richly decorated, set with precious stones and etched with fantastical pictures. A second set were sat in the man’s lap, and he couldn’t seem to stop tracing his fingers over the elaborate embellishments.

Jaskier returned to humming, a thin line of sweat trickling down his temple.

The smell of magic lingered in the air, like overripe fruit and the strong alcohol favored in the far, far south east.

The last lock clicked open, and Jaskier released a faint sigh of relief. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat from his forehead, leaning back. Twisting from side to side, he cracked his back, and handed the set of cuffs over to the man.

Grinning brilliantly, flashing white teeth, the man -the _djinn_ \- leapt to his feet, the chains of the hobbles clasped between his fingers. “I feel lighter than _air_!” he declared, spinning in a circle. An unnatural breeze swept through the clearing, causing Roach to nicker anxiously and shuffle her hooves.

“You are _brilliant_ ,” the djinn declared, pulling Jaskier to his feet and clasping his face in his hands. The hobbles were gone, vanished into thin air. He smacked twin kisses to each of Jaskier’s cheeks, making the bard squeak in surprise and blush. “I owe you a great service, _Ra’iis Púca_ ! If you are ever in need of me, simply call _Haya Azaad_ , and I will hear you.” He kissed Jaskier full on the mouth, eyes gleaming gold like desert sands, and vanished.

“...What the _fuck_ , Jaskier,” Geralt scrubbed both hands across his face. “You made _friends_ with the djinn! Weren’t you warning me to leave them alone?”

“Ah, no, not preciscely,” Jaskier coughed, still bright red. “I, uh, trying to _master_ a djinn is, um, a poor idea, to say the least. They can be rather recalcitrant at times, which is understandable, I would be too after being stuck in a bottle for thousands of years, prey to whoever picked me up, forced to obey their commands.”

Geralt hummed dubiously, scowling at him. “Where did you even learn _how_ to free a djinn, anyway? Seems a bit odd of a pastime, don’t you think?”

“Ah, see,” Jaskier rubbed an awkward hand over the back of his neck. “I had a nanny when I was little who came from the East, who used to tell me stories of djinn and how easily things can go very, very wrong. If you _break_ the amphore, instead of straight up opening it, you get a bit of a loophole. It buys you enough time to talk to them, calm them down.”

“...I need you to know that you are an _idiot_ ,” Geralt groaned, slumping back against the tree. “A fool, truly. Taking on a djinn, by _yourself_.”

“I fared better than you would have!” Jaskier protested heatedly, putting his hands on his hips to glare down at the Witcher. “If you’d wished for sleep you probably never would have woken up! Or died! Or- I don’t know, probably something equally stupid and terrible! And it’s not like _I_ need any djinn wishes; I am quite content with how I am.”

“...A fool,” Geralt deadpanned, and sighed. “But a kind one.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose as soon as they stepped into the town, looking around in distaste. “Why does this whole place smell of sex and dead fish?”

Geralt worked to keep his face from curling in revulsion. “I suggest we move through here as quickly as possible,” he growled, quickly kicking Roach into a faster pace towards the broad sign of a tavern. He tossed a coin to the girl dozing against the stable after he slid off his horse. “Watch the horse,” he said flatly, pressing the reins into the girl’s lax hands.

She sputtered, but nodded, quickly setting about stabling Roach and procuring grain.

The girl behind the bar couldn’t have been any older than fourteen, boredly polishing an already clean glass with a scrap of cloth. She perked up as soon as the door opened, only faltering slightly at the sight of the Witcher and his barker. “Welcome, good sirs! What’ll you have?”

“...Where the blessed bells are the rest of the adults?” Jaskier asked incredulously, staring around. No one in the tavern could possibly be of age, a smattering of teenaged farmhands and workers only.

“Ah…” the girl chewed her lip, casting her gaze to the side. “The, ah, see…”

Geralt squinted at her suspiciously.

“Stop being so brutish, dear Witcher, you’ll frighten the poor girl half to death!” Jaskier shoved lightly at his shoulder, striding forward and dropping into a seat at the bar. “Young one, no need to worry! Tell us your story, would you?”

“There’s a sorceress,” a young man called from down the bar. “Taken up residence in the master’s house. Enchanted half the able bodies in the town, put the rest to sleep. You hit the further sides, there’s more adults, but none’ll come near for fear of the witch.”

“That’s...unfortunate,” Jaskier frowned. “What is the sorceress’s name?”

The boy shook his head fiercely. “She can hear you if you say it,” he scowled, fingers curling tight around his spoon. “She’ll put you to sleep if you do.”

Jaskier turned pleading eyes on the Witcher, blinking widely.

“I don’t get involved in the affairs of men,” Geralt growled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Especially not with witches and sorceresses. More trouble than it’s worth.”

“Geralt, darling-” Jaskier wheedled.

“ _No_ , bard; if you know what’s good for you, you’ll not go sticking your nose in it either.” Geralt slumped into the seat beside the bard, glaring at him.

The girl behind the counter sniffled wetly, and Jaskier sighed and shook his head. He tutted softly, chucking her under her chin to lift her face. He produced a handkerchief from his sleeve and passed it over for her to dab her tears with.

“Well,” Jaskier said, sliding to his feet. “Time to go bother a witch, I think!” he said cheerily, twiddling his fingers in farewell.

Geralt sighed heavily through his nose.

“Sir, no!” the young man at the end of the bar leapt to his feet, staring at Jaskier with wide eyes. “You’ll fall into her trap, too!”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier laughed, eyes twinkling a compelling fantastical blue.

“I’m not coming to rescue you if you do get seduced by the witch,” Geralt grunted, making Jaskier giggle like a young boy.

“Oh, Gerlat, darling Witcher,” Jaskier giggled, walking backwards towards the door. “You’ll find that I am not so quick to succumb to a wicked witch.” His eyes nearly _glowed_ in the gloom, and Geralt wondered absently if it was a trick of the dim light or something...else. “Why don’t you give these lovely young men and women a hand around the town, do what needs doing? I’ll be back quick as a wink!”

“You’re an idiot,” Geralt called, already resigned to going to fetch the idiotic troubadour later. After a few hours. Maybe.

Jaskier pranced into the inn just as the sun was beginning to set, humming a jaunty little tune and ignoring the trail of blood leading down from his nose. “Hello, Geralt!” he called, sounding pleased as punch. “I had a _lovely_ time; how about you?”

“You smell like debauchery,” Geralt scowled, scraping his spoon against the bottom of the wooden bowl.

“Hm, yes, well,” Jaskier sank onto the bench across from him, suddenly appearing exhausted. “As one does, after all...that.”

“So you did seduce the witch,” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“...Something like that,” Jaskier smiled, something in his eyes sharp. “She found me most interesting, delightfully enough. I’ve been told I’m positively _wicked_ with my hands, you know.”

Geralt wrinkled his nose, unimpressed. “I don’t want to hear of your exploits, bard. Are you finished here?”

“I quite like to think so,” Jaskier hummed, and slid to his feet. “Your parents will return soon,” he called, turning to face the eagerly listening little faces. “The sorceress will be a problem no longer, I promise!”

Geralt dropped a handful of coins onto the table, definitely too much for the meager bowl of thin soup and piss-poor ale, and rose to his feet. He grabbed Jaskier by the strap of his lute and stomped from the tavern. Outside, the stench of sex had mostly cleared from the air, replaced by the tinge of smoke and rock dust. The mayor’s fine house was no longer visible, a thin curl of smoke drifting in the wind.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Geralt hauled Jaskier around to face him. “Did you burn down the mayor’s house?” he snarled incredulously, giving the man a shake.

“What? Of course not!” Jaskier gripped Geralt’s wrist, tugging fruitlessly. “That was all that witch’s doing! Nothing can go well when you have trapped a Fae to do your bidding, Geralt, surely even you know that.”

“...She trapped a _Fae_?” Geralt asked, stunned. Fae were notoriously slippery creatures; keeping one contained even for a short period of time was a magnificent feat.

“A young one,” Jaskier flapped an absent hand and shook his head. “In human years it would be barely into adolescence, if that. I suspect she wanted to make a trade -a fae child for a human child. Kind of like the opposite of a Changeling, you see?”

“...I take it that didn’t work out so well,” Geralt slowly released Jaskier, eyeing him curiously. How did a simple human bard know so much about the Fae? Enough to be able to distinguish a young one from an adult one? Even _Geralt_ didn’t know that much, and he made his living knowing about supernatural creatures. Well, killing them, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he could challenge one of the Gentle Folk and live to speak of it.

Jaskier released a sharp bark of laughter, sounding positively _malicious_ . His eyes gleamed strangely in the half-dark. Geralt hoped it was a trick of the light, but something deep inside of him knew that it wasn’t. “Dearest darling Witcher, what do you think? She’s not dead, perhaps unfortunately, but she certainly won’t be doing anything like _that_ again for as long as she lives.”

“...Hm,” Geralt grunted, and turned to the stables. The sooner they were out of this cursed little town, the better.

Geralt tried to be prepared for many things. Monsters, men, betrayal, knives in the dark…

Nothing really could have prepared him for the sight before him.

Then again, in hindsight, he wasn’t really sure why he was surprised.

“Ah! Geralt!” Jaskier waved delightedly, careful not to disturb the child on his lap who was picking very determinedly at his lute. The child with pointed, elven ears, and unnaturally green eyes. “How nice of you to join us!”

“...What the fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, settling his sword back in its sheath. “Not yours, I hope.”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Jaskier laughed, as if Geralt had told a truly hilarious joke. “I’m only holding onto her until her parents come to claim her! They should be along soon enough.”

“...We are in the middle of the forest, Jaskier,” Geralt said flatly. “The nearest town is over a day’s ride away. Where the _fuck_ did you manage to get a child.”

The child bared her teeth at him, revealing canines that were far more suited to a predator than the tiny creature before him.

Geralt went still and slow, slowly raising an eyebrow. “I thought you said the Fae child was closer to adolescence than this.”

“No, I said she wouldn’t even be into adolescence,” Jaskier corrected primly, combing his fingers through the child’s riotous white-blonde curls. Her hair was the color of sunlight on freshly fallen snow, her skin the sun-kissed shade of a true wild-child.

Sighing faintly, Geralt set his armload of wood on the ground beside the scratched out fire pit, kneeling to begin to split some of them into smaller pieces. “How do you always manage to get into this shit, Jaskier.”

“Talent, I suppose,” Jaskier smirked, weaving small purple flowers into the girl’s hair. He murmured something lowly into her ear, soft enough that even Geralt’s enhanced hearing couldn’t pick it up, and the girl tittered a gleaming laugh. Her teeth flashed in the light, deadly sharp.

“ _I follow, I follow, to the grave, to the grave; we wallow, we wallow, woeful days, woeful days. Cry out, cry out, please give me rest; cry out, cry out, please let me rest. My love, my love, my dearly loved, when shall I see you again? My love, my love, my dearest love, please let me see you again. Lay my head upon the cold dark earth; weep not for what we once had-_ "

"Jaskier."

The soft singing cut off suddenly. "Geralt!" the troubadour exclaimed, sounding almost right above his head.

It took far, far too much effort for Geralt to open his eyes, and he squinted up at Jaskier. His head was resting on something warm and soft.

The bard was peering down at him with wide, monstrously blue eyes, his face and neck spattered liberally with ink-black blood.

Ah. He was on Jaskier's lap. Alright then.

"Geralt, you terrified me," Jaskier sighed, stroking his fingers gently through Geralt's blood-slicked hair. "That monster almost had you."

"I should be dead," Geralt frowned, feeling strangely floaty and somewhat not attached to his body. "Why am I not dead."

"I am stubborn," Jaskier said absently, scratching lightly clawed hands against Geralt's skull. It was very pleasant. "And I will not let you leave me yet."

Geralt hummed. He was slowly returning to his body, and he had to say, he didn't particularly care for it. "So, what, you fought death?"

Laughing slightly, Jaskier shook his head. "Nothing nearly so dramatic, my dearest. You were not at Death's door quite yet, and even _I_ am not strong enough to defeat Her when She wants something."

"You...aren't human, are you," Geralt half-asked, lifting a heavy hand to trace over the pointed tip of Jaskier's ear.

"Not at all, my love," Jaskier quirked a small smile, and sharp fangs glinted in the starlight.

"Why do you call me that?" Geralt frowned, allowing his hand to collapse back onto his chest. "All those things. You can't- human or not, it's a bad idea."

"Well no one ever said I had good ones," Jaskier laughed faintly, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to Geralt's forehead. "Are you feeling up to walking, yet, love? I want to get those wounds of yours cleaned and looked at."

"...No."

"Alright," Jaskier hummed, and his voice rose in song. " _Oh, dear, what can the matter be, dear, dear, what can the matter be, oh, dear, what can the matter be, Johnny so long at the fair…_ "

“What an interesting creature you’ve chosen to be your travel companion, Witcher,” the sorceress purred, sliding up close to Geralt. “A bard? Not something I would have expected from someone like yourself.”

Geralt grunted, not looking away from where Jaskier was doing nothing short of making a spectacle of himself across the fire, hands moving dramatically through the air as he illustrated a story that Geralt was sure was at least ninety percent exaggeration and two percent patent falsehood.

“Does your little pet have a name?” the sorceress asked, her violet eyes sparking bright in the firelight. Her fingers lit featherlight on his thigh, stroking towards the inner seam of his trousers.

Geralt felt a stirring in his gut, but swiftly clamped it down. Bad sense to get involved with a sorceress, especially one as powerful as this one seemed to be. “You want to know it, ask him.”

She pouted, tracing the seam of his pants. “Do you have a name, Witcher?”

“I do,” Geralt replied simply, and lifted her hand away from where it was creeping closer to his manhood. “Keep your hands to yourself, witch.”

Huffing, she crossed her arms and frowned across the fire at Jaskier. “You realize he’s not human, don’t you?”

“Obviously,” Geralt suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. In over twenty years of knowing him, the bard had failed to receive so much as a single grey hair -of course he wasn’t simply _human_. “Did you realize that before or after he trumped you soundly at your own game?”

Scowling at him, she slithered to her feet and sauntered away, looking for all the world as if it were her own choice to depart. “You play a dangerous game, Witcher,” she called back, voice cutting across the camp.

“I’ve made worse choices,” Geralt called back, meeting Jaskier’s gaze across the light of the fire.

The man’s eyes glimmered with a Fae light, the corner of his mouth curling wickedly.

Geralt doubted he’d ever really know who the victor was in the game that they played, but he didn’t mind that so much.

~/\~

Geralt woke with an unfamiliar weight across his thighs, and slowly peeled one eye open.

A dog was draped across his lap, peering at him out of the corner of one blue eye.

"...Jaskier?" Geralt frowned.

The dog's tail thumped tiredly against the ground, and it gave a slow blink.

"I wasn't expecting you for another few weeks, at the earliest," Geralt said, sitting up and scratching between Jaskier's ears. "Did something happen?"

Jaskier sighed heavily, burying his nose under his paws.

"Don't want to talk about it then, I suppose," Geralt hummed understandingly. "Regardless, time to get up. Kaer Morhen is still weeks away."

Groaning, Jaskier dragged himself to four feet and trotted off.

"My offer still stands, you know," Geralt said over bread, passing off bites of jerky. "Since you don't seem to have plans to winter at your...hm, home, anymore."

Jaskier cocked his head to the side, blinking guilelessly.

"Come with me," Geralt said, frowning at his crust of bread. "The others will not mind, and if they do- they'll speak with me."

Jaskier grinned a canine grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He barked, once, and seemed to nod.

Geralt fought the smile that threatened, nodding decisively. "It is settled, then."

"Have you brought dinner?" Lambert asked curiously, peering at the rabbit tucked close against Geralt's throat.

"I never figured you to be much for a fur collar," Eskel added, grinning faintly.

"This is Jaskier," Geralt intoned, sounding for all the world as though he were introducing a noble king, and not a seemingly petrified rabbit that appeared to be attempting to crawl into his skin.

Lambert laughed, delighted. "Our dear Geralt, with a pet! How quaint-" he reached forward to prod it. "Tell me, does it have some secret? Is it a _poisonous_ rabbit? Fangs? Claws? Or-" he yelped and jerked back, blood streaming from his finger where sharp rabbit teeth had sank deep.

Geralt smirked, running soothing fingers over the bunny's back. "Fangs, it seems."

Eskel howled with laughter, jamming his elbow into Lambert's side.

"Don't be picky," Geralt rolled his eyes, biting the grape in half and offering the other part to the crow perched on the arm rest of the neighboring chair. "You like grapes, Jaskier."

"I thought Jaskier was the name of your rabbit," Vesemir arched a slow eyebrow, sipping slowly at a mug of warm mulled wine.

Geralt shrugged. "Jaskier is also the name of this crow," he said, smirking faintly as the bird finally deigned to pick up the grape half. It fluttered to Geralt's shoulder, clacking his beak noisily directly in Geralt's ear.

Vesemir smirked, and Geralt sighed.

"Blessed _hells_!" Lambert snarled, jerking back as the dog snarled and lunged at him. "When the fuck did we get strays in this hell-forgotten place-?"

"Jaskier!" Geralt snapped, moving at ease. "We're _training_ , he means me no harm."

Jaskier, apparently, barked. It trotted up to Lambert, standing warily, and pissed on his shoe.

Lambert leapt back, snarling in disgust. "Geralt! Control your filthy beast before I control it for you!"

Snorting, Geralt swung his sword and settled back into a ready position.

Several brutal hours later, Lambert and Geralt were stretching out the aches of the practice, and Lambert was pretty sure Geralt was talking to the dog as if it were a person.

"Now, I could have _sworn_ you didn't show up with a dog," Lambert said, frowning at Geralt from underneath his arm.

"I didn't, correct," Geralt hummed, scratching under the dog's chin.

"Also, why are you calling all the animals _Jaskier_? Isn't that the name of that bard that always follows you around?" Lambert twisted to pop his spine, then relaxed back on his palms in the light dusting of snow that was starting to fall. "Do you miss him that badly?"

"Difficult to miss someone who is still with you," Geralt said, giving the dog a flat look.

The dog barked, dropping into a play position. He darted forward, shoving his cold nose into Geralt's ear, making the man sputter and shove him away.

"Jaskier!" Geralt growled playfully. He slapped his hands together, then against his thighs.

Jaskier barked eagerly and spun in a circle, then bounded back up to Geralt and tackled him to the ground.

Lambert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as Gerslt and his dog wrestled in the freezing mud. "Hells," he rolled his eyes and rocked to his feet. "Vesemir will have your head if you muck up the baths," he called, striding off, sword held loosely in one hand.

There was a man perched lightly on the roof outside Geralt's room.

Eskel stared for several long moments, intrigued and more than slightly confused. "Geralt?" he called, turning his head but not taking his eyes off the man. "That _Jaskier_ friend of yours- he's not human, is he."

"...Why do you ask," Geralt arched an eyebrow, taking a long swallow of his warm wine.

"I believe he is sitting on your roof," Eskel gestured vaguely. "Is he perhaps a faerie?"

"Something like that, yes," Geralt shrugged, ignoring Lambert's outraged spluttering. He rose, carrying his cup with him. He leaned out the window beside Eskel and whistled, sharp and piercing.

Across the way, the man's head jerked up. He waved, stood, and stepped off the roof.

"Hells-" Eskel coughed, jerking against the sudden panic of watching a man plummet to his probable doom.

Geralt held out his arm, and a black crow winged into view above the rooftops. He settled on Geralt's wrist, allowing himself to be taken inside. "Jaskier," he said, motioning with his cup to the crow.

"You brought a _faerie_ into Kaer Morhen?" Lambert asked incredulously, half rising to his feet.

Geralt shrugged. "I trust him with my life."

The crow hopped up onto Geralt's shoulder, and was suddenly a man, wrapped tightly around the Witcher. "You say the _sweetest_ things, my dearest," he said, nuzzling into the side of Geralt's face. "Enough to make me _swoon_."

"You pissed on my leg!" Lambert pointed an accusing finger.

"You can't say you didn't deserve it," Jaskier sniffed daintily, turning up his chin. "You were being awfully rude."

Lambert sputtered, scowling. "What the _fuck_ , man."

Geralt simply smirked, returning to the table. He dropped Jaskier into one of the chairs, then set down himself.

"Perhaps we'll finally get a decent conversation in this place," Vesemir said smoothly around the mouth of his cup. "Geralt has talked you up often enough, as well- would you perform for us this evening, bard?"

Jaskier lit up, smiling brightly. "I would be honoured!" he declared cheerily.

"How many creatures can you become?" Vesemir asked curiously, watching the man polish his lute by the light of the fire in the library. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh, I don't," Jaskier shrugged, tilting the instrument to examine it more closely. "And the answer is- I'm not sure. Dog, horse, cat, wolf- I've yet to find one I cannot be."

"You must be a powerful Fae to be able to do that," Vesemir hummed approvingly, and turned the page of his book. "And fairly old, at that."

"That's a very roundabout way of asking a man his age," Jaskier purred, eyes glinting unnaturally in the firelight. "You are right, I am...not exactly young. How old do _you_ think I am?"

Vesemir was acutely aware of the silence surrounding them, broken only by the crackle of the fire. "Much older than I," he said finally. "Probably older than even this keep. Am I wrong?"

"Not at all," Jaskier smirked, flashing sharp fangs. "But...a bit of an understatement, young one. Many of these ancient kingdoms were not even in their infancy when I was created."

"Created, not born?" Vesemir cocked his head to the side.

Jaskier leaned back, a faint smile curling his impish mouth. " _Once long ago with the turning of the spheres, this world spun alight and born were new fears. Pain and death and suffering, screaming at futility, fractures of the soul and blood-born unity. Magic rise and magic fall, people rise above them all. I once remembered a sweet, sweet melody, that gold refrain a silvered memory. Care to sing with me, join me in this song? Your body knows the words, your soul can sing along._ "

Vesemir allowed his eyes to drift to half-mast, fingers sliding to mark the pages of his book.

Slowly, the other Witchers drifted closer. Lambert and Eskel settled into the armchairs around the fire, while Geralt draped himself on the bear-skin rug beside Jaskier.

The tune was almost jaunty, even as the words were gloomy and only a half-step away from melancholic.

"We must seem like infants to you," Eskel said, propping his chin on fist.

"No, you're full-grown adults," Jaskier laughed slightly, strumming absently on the lap harp he'd acquired from...somewhere, Eskel wasn't quite sure. "You have your own experiences, your own lives lived. Just because you are younger than me does not mean you are _young_."

"Odd sentiment to have," Lambert mused, settling sideways in the cozy armchair.

"Perhaps not," Vesemir told him, "do you not think the same of normal humans? Just because they are younger than you, will always be younger than you, doesn't mean they are any less grown than you?"

"Precisely," Jaskier agreed, thumbing out some half-familiar tune. "You understand me well, Master Vesemir."

Lambert opened then closed his mouth, squinting slightly. "You know, when you said _wolf_ , I'm not… This almost wasn't what I was expecting."

Jaskier bared his teeth in a threatening grin, his tail thumping against Geralt's thigh.

Beneath him, barely visible under the bulk of the massive creature, Geralt sighed faintly. "I had been planning on training, Jaskier."

The wolf huffed, and set his head back on the rug beside Geralt.

"We need to go hunting," Lambert said, and put his hands on his hips. "Are you planning on bringing your bard with you?"

Jaskier thumped his tail eagerly, lifting his head again.

"We can't go _anywhere_ with you still laying on me, Jas," Geralt said tiredly.

Jumping up, Jaskier hauled Geralt to his feet, forcibly headbutting him towards his quarters to get ready.

Lambert bit back a laugh, lower lip caught between his sharp teeth. "Best do what he wants, brother -I now see who wears the pants in this relationship."

Geralt tossed an obscene gesture over his shoulder, mellowly allowing himself to be herded along.

The sun was setting by the time they returned, both men carrying gutted deer over their shoulders and Jaskier proudly dragging an elk carcass, tail lifted like a noble banner.

Vesemir was waiting at the gate to the keep, arms crossed. "I expect you to clean yourselves up before you're allowed to wander the keep."

Whining, Jaskier dropped the throat of the elk. His muzzle was streaked thickly with rich red blood, down his chest and paws. He bounded off, burying his body in the snow and wriggling around like the high-strung canine he was. He bounced back back to Vesemir, ears cocked forward and tail lifted as if seeking approval.

"...Better, but you've missed a few spots," Vesemir smirked faintly. His arms loosened, and he placed them on his hips. "Drag it to the butchery, then go wash up."

Howling joyfully, Jaskier pranced back to the elk. He fastened his overly-long teeth on the spine, following Lambert and Geralt inside.

" _That_ is a horror," Lambert said, frowning at Jaskier in his most human-like form.

Jaskier blinked at him, then grinned with a mouth full of a predator's teeth. His entire front was still drenched with gore, his elegant clothes perfectly spotless, except for where the blood on his skin was seeping through. "I'll bet I can beat you to the baths," he said, voice a purr.

"You're on," Lambert laughed, voice wicked.

Geralt sighed. "You're an idiot."

"No animal transformations," Lambert said, lowering himself into a sprinting position. "Geralt, you give the go."

"...Go," Geralt said flatly, and both of them launched off, shoving each other into walls and tripping each other down stairs. He followed at a much more sedate pace, loosening the buckles on his armor as he went. The dressing room was scattered with clothing detritus, and Geralt sighed again. He stripped efficiently, piling his own belongings in a neat stack. Tying up his hair, he grabbed one of the oversized towels from the stack and wandered into the baths.

Lambert and Jaskier were splashing and wrestling in one of the pools, both of them cackling madly. Lambert shoved Jaskier's head under the water, then was taken out at the knees.

Groaning softly, Geralt slumped into a different pool, groaning as the heat soothed his stiff body.

"Geralt!" Jaskier giggled, finally shoving Lambert off of him and prancing to the pool. He slipped in, sidling close. "I've missed hunting like that," he said, mouth wide and teeth still bloody.

Splashing over, Lambert dropped across from them. "It was a good hunt," he agreed, scrubbing his fingers through his short black hair. "We should do that more often."

Jaskier purred, eyes half-lifted. "That is perhaps the best idea you've had, I do believe."

"Well, I have them occasionally," Lambert smirked, and leaned back to throw his arms over the lip of the pool.

"Very occasionally," Geralt agreed, eyes closed. He ignored them both, making Jaskier pout and lean back.

Geralt inhaled his mouthful of wine as he slipped through the door, coughing raggedly. "Jas- _Jaskier?_ " he asked incredulously, eyes roving over the woman sitting cross-legged before the hearth.

She blinked at him, and lifted both her eyebrows. "Geralt!" she smiled, her voice sticky-sweet like honey. "Love, good evening. Kick Eskel's ass?"

He grunted, closing the door behind him to better trap the heat. Wandering closer, he lowered himself to his knees to his meditation pose. "Why the look?"

"Hm?" She cocked her head to the side, blinking guilelessly. Jaskier was wearing her typical clothing, though her doublet was missing and her chemise was loosened to allow for her breasts. "Oh, you mean my tits? Just...trying something new," she shrugged, biting her lower lip and looking back down at her harp. She looked like a walking wet dream, and knew it.

Geralt slid unconsciously into a more relaxed pose. "Jaskier…" he said slowly, hoping he wasn't stepping out of bounds. "I- why now?"

"I don't know what you mean," Jaskier frowned, studiously not looking at him.

Geralt sidled close, carefully lifting the lute from her lax fingers. He pressed his fingers to her chin, tipping her face back and forth. She looked just enough like his usual Jaskier to be familiar, almost like a sister or a cousin. Her eyes were blue, lashes long and thick. A smattering of freckles dotted her cute button nose. Broad shoulders, just as wide as usual, with an elegant neck. "Please...I don't need you to impress me," he said quietly, eyes searching hers. "I know you- say you're in love with me. I don't-" he shook his head, and traced his thumb over the line of her jaw.

Jaskier huffed, pulling her face away. "Leave it be, Geralt. I know you don't feel the same. I know that people say the Fae cannot love like humans, which might be true. I don't know how humans love, but I know how _I_ love."

"I don't doubt that," Geralt said, and placed his hands back in his lap. "I don't know if I _love_ you, but I know that I am...fond of you. In any form you choose. Breasts or cock or wings…" he shrugged, and looked away.

"You say that now," Jaskier said, and sounded male again, and there was the rustle of fingers through hair, making Geralt look up.

Geralt's breath caught in his throat.

Jaskier's hands rested on the back of his neck, and he frowned seriously at his lap. He had horns spiralling up from his chestnut hair, curved like a goat's back towards his skull. They had been broken off roughly, snapped only six inches beyond his crown. His ears were far more pointed than an elf's, pierced with silver studs and precious gems. Thin silver scars scattered across his throat and down his chest, barely visible through his thick chest hair.

"As I said," Geralt lifted Jaskier's chin again, spying cat-like pupils in his monstrously blue eyes. "Any form you choose."

Jaskier quirked one corner of his mouth, barely flashing dangerously sharp teeth. "You may be one of a kind, my Witcher," he said softly, calloused fingertips tracing soothing circles across the back of Geralt's hand.

Jaskier draped himself over Geralt's shoulders, staring unblinkingly at the alderman. "There is something you're not telling us," he said in a sing-song style. "Anything more you have to say?"

The man swallowed thickly, gaze darting between the Witcher and his barker. "The men that have been found...they've all been in pieces. Torn limb from limb, and drained completely of blood."

Geralt hummed. "Sounds much more dangerous than the thing you've been suggesting it might be, Alderman."

Jaskier hummed, high-pitched with warning.

The alderman gulped and sank back in his seat.

"I should hope we'll be compensated fairly," Jaskier said, voice deceptively light.

"Of- of course," the man nodded swiftly.

"We'll be on our way," Geralt said flatly, turning.

Jaskier slid down from his back, pausing in the doorway to shoot a horrifically toothy grin at the alderman.

The man gasped, jolting back.

Jaskier cackled as he walked out, traipsing lightly after his Witcher.

" _Shit!_ " Geralt dropped his sword uncaringly as soon as the last hunter dropped, dashing over to Jaskier. "Jas, fuck-"

"Ah,Melitele’s _tits_ ," Jaskier gasped, voice bubbling and wet. His hand was clenched against his skin where the dagger lay embedded, flesh already turning the hot red of infection. "Shit, Geralt, I think I've been stabbed."

"Shut- stop talking," Geralt pleaded, whistling for Roach. She trotted over obediently, laying down for easier access to the saddlebags. "How do I treat this?"

"Gotta-" Jaskier hissed, mouth drawing open in a gasping pant. His teeth were deadly sharp, glamour flickering under the pain. "Pull it out, poison, _poison_ -"

Right, iron, deadly against the Fae.

Sliding the knife free, Geralt tossed it uncaringly over his shoulder. He grabbed a bottle of shimmering violet and upended it over the wound, making Jaskier bark out a harsh howl of pain. His voice wavered between wolf and man.

"I know, I'm sorry," Geralt soothed, ripping the ruined doublet apart to get better access.

"I know, love," Jaskier ground his teeth together, jaw working. "I-" he gasped, clawed fingers digging into the soft, blood-soaked loam of the forest floor. " _Fuck_ that stings."

Geralt grunted, pressing the wad of bandage down tighter. "Stop _talking_."

Jaskier bit out a weak laugh. "Stop talking or tell you how to heal me, make up your mind, darling."

"...Be quick about it," Geralt said finally, pushing Jaskier's hand to hold the bandage in place. He pulled out a clean one and swiftly soaked it in that purple liquid, then swapped them out.

A stick snapped somewhere behind him, and Geralt spun, already snarling. He had nothing near him except a mostly-useless silver sword and a short steel dagger.

The woman arched an unimpressed eyebrow, looking him up and down. "Now, do you really think you could hurt me?" she asked, sounding amused. "Blessings to you for trying to protect my brother, however." This woman wore no glamor, her horns curling and elegant and draped with thin silver chains and precious gems. Her clothes were thin and draping, flowing around her body like an elegant caress. Her eyes were green, with cat-like pupils. She had _wings_ , massive and arched behind her threateningly.

"Kalia," Jaskier grunted, squinting. "It's been too long. Or maybe not long enough."

She smirked faintly, sliding closer on completely silent feet. Geralt knew she'd broken that branch entirely on purpose, now.

Roach snorted from where she was patiently waiting, shaking her head.

“It has been too long...brother,” Kalia agreed demurely, sinking to her knees beside her head. “It’s almost like you’ve been avoiding us -your dear, dear siblings. When we’d heard you’d taken up with a Witcher, we’d wondered if you were _trying_ to get yourself killed.”

Jaskier snorted derisively, then hissed in pain, back arching.

“If you’re not going to help, then _leave_ ,” Geralt snarled, hands clenching into tight fists around the bottle and wad of bandages.

Laughing mildly, Kalia shook her head indulgently, as if Geralt were a child trying to be threatening. “Young one, he must be taken home if he is to be healed effectively. Human medicines have little to no effect on the likes of us.”

Jaskier snarled, glaring at her. “You know as well as I do that they cast me out.”

“Mother is lenient,” Kalia said, waving an uncaring hand. “She has always had a soft spot for her eldest child. She would welcome you home with open arms if only you would stop this foolishness of befriending the humans. You break your heart every time you grow close to one only to have it die.”

“Better that than to never live,” Jaskier growled, rolling onto his side and pushing himself agonizingly into a sitting position. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples, and Geralt leapt forward to catch him when he teetered dangerously. “Better to love in short bursts than to never love at all!”

Kalia sat back, arching a finely shaped eyebrow. “You have changed, big brother,” she said slowly. Standing, she brushed her immaculate dress off. “If you will not return home, then we cannot help you. You will probably die.”

Hissing at her, Jaskier struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against Geralt. He grinned with bloody teeth, fangs long and sharp. His glamour was wavering, horns curling in and out of existence atop his head. “You think too little of me, little sister,” he said, finally giving up his glamour completely.

Kalia’s eyes widened imperceptibly, lips parting in shock. “Brother, I-” she halted herself, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I had not seen...they stole your _pride_.”

Jaskier barked out a harsh laugh, and coughed up blood. “They keep a lot of things from you all, little sister,” he croaked, voice getting weaker.

“...A mage may be able to help,” Kalia said, a worried pucker appearing between her brows. “I can feel one in the nearest town; I may be able to convince them.”

Geralt blinked, and a young woman was before him, her curling brown hair arranged in an elegant updo that Geralt only regularly saw in royal courts.

“Get him on the horse,” Kalia said, jerking her head to Roach. “I will travel faster alone. Meet me in Calarin quickly.” She turned and vanished into the trees.

“...Do you trust her?” Geralt asked Jaskier seriously, searching the man’s eyes.

“More than others,” Jaskier rasped, “but less than some.”

“...That’ll have to be good enough.” Geralt hauled Jaskier onto Roach, holding him close to his chest. “ _Ride_ , Roach!”

When Jaskier woke again, the sun was low in the sky. His side burned faintly as he sat up, but nowhere near as badly as it had before. He looked over to soft breathing, spying Geralt asleep sitting up on the bed beside him. A small smile curled his lip, and he reached out to stroke gentle fingers through his pearl-white hair.

Geralt awoke with a jerk, blinking rapidly. “Jas-” he breathed, eyes lighting up.

“My White Wolf,” Jaskier said softly, hand resting against the Witcher’s cheek. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

Jaskier jerked his head around, lips automatically twisting into a snarl. “Witch!”

She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “I mean you no harm,” she said. “Your, ah, sister threatened me quite intensely if I harmed so much as a hair on your head, and I have learned now to never cross a Fae.”

Jaskier humphed, nodding. “Good to know you have at least some intelligence in that breadbox you call a brain.”

Her eyebrows lowered, annoyed. She opened her mouth to respond, but only coughed when a firm elbow met her ribs to push her out of the way.

“Brother!” Kalia breathed, relieved. She had abandoned her glamour again, and Jaskier realized that his own was long gone, all of his scars and imperfections exposed to the eye.

He refused to feel self-conscious about it, pushing his shoulders back out of their automatic slouch. “Kalia,” Jaskier said, catching her hands in his. “I didn’t think you would be so worried about me.”

“I- have learned,” she said slowly, eyes catching on his broken horns and the ragged scar across his neck. “Even if Mother is lenient, I know that there are others who would not be. You may be a fool, but you do not deserve that.”

Jaskier smiled faintly, retracting his hands and reaching for Geralt. The Witcher caught his hand, bringing his hand to his mouth to brush his lips across the backs of his fingers. Blushing brilliantly, Jaskier jerked his head away. He glared at Kalia, daring her to say something.

She smiled demurely, stepping back and brushing off her skirt.

Huffing, Jaskier turned his look to the witch, lingering somewhat awkwardly near the door. “I do owe you my thanks,” he said, sliding to his feet and dragging the sheet with him. He ignored Kalia’s muffled gasp at the sight of the lash-like scarring across his back. “What is your name, Witch?”

“You must truly think I am a fool if I would give you that so easily,” she said flatly, crossing her arms under her chest. Her gaze darted down his form, over the circular scars around his wrists and ankles.

His lion-like tail whipped back and forth in amusement, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a sharp smile. His sharp teeth flashed in the dying light of the late afternoon sun. “Not as much of a fool as you have been.”

Kalia sidled forward, and her wings lifted. “She is Yennefer,” she said cooly, arching an eyebrow at the way the woman’s mouth twisted bitterly. “He must know your name if he is to thank you the proper way, Witch.”

Geralt, on the bed, frowned, confused. He knew names could be powerful, especially in the hands of the Fae, but what did they mean by _properly_ thanking her?

“Yennefer of Vengerburg,” Jaskier purred, eyes going half-lidded. The air felt electrified, the aura of a sky before a storm, and Geralt felt his breath catch at the pure power emanating from his bard. “You have saved my life, and I owe you a great debt. I will repay you in a way you and I deem fit. What is your greatest wish? You seem like a woman always hungering for power.”

“...I want the choice of a child,” Yennefer said softly, hands curling into fists at her sides. “The choice that was taken from me when I was only a child and did not know any better.”

“You want somebody to love you,” Kalia hummed, thoughtful. “Who will not fear you.”

Yennefer ducked her head, heart pounding in her ears. “You see to the heart of things, Fae.”

“One of our gifts,” Jaskier laughed faintly, and cast his gaze back at Geralt. “And a wish for love is...fairly common.” He turned back to Yennefer, and pressed his claws fingertips to the bottom of her chin to pull her eyes back up to him. “I remember -a child for a child you had tried once.”

“A mistake,” she said fiercely, eyes suddenly blazing. “A child that is stolen feels no love for their captor. I do not- I do not want fear. Especially not from a child. I have learned.”

“Yes, you have,” Jaskier smiled. “I know of a young girl who will need you soon,” he said, and smirked. “A powerful girl, who does not yet know the magnitude of the power she holds.”

Geralt’s eyes widened imperceptibly. Was he-?

“A great lioness is to fall, soon,” Kalia said slowly, eyes closed. “Less than a fortnight and her world will burn.”

“The cub has already lost her mother’s love,” Jaskier agreed, and his eyes suddenly blazed a blinding blue. His magic was the color of the summer sky, the midnight ocean, the spring breeze, the winter storm. “She will need you, and you will need her. She will come to love you, and you, I know, already love her.”

Yennefer sucked in a breath, eyes going wide. Unfamiliar magic drenched her, worming its way into her bones and settling deep. “You-” she breathed.

Laughing slightly, Kalia stepped away.

Geralt leapt to Jaskier’s side as he collapsed, cradling him close to his chest as the Faerie went utterly limp. “Jaskier!”

“He will be fine,” Kalia said, watching the witch stumble to her knees. “Doubtless it’s been right ages since he’s performed magic of that scale. He will sleep it off and be fine in the morning.”

Growling at her, Geralt bundled Jaskier in his sheet and tucked him back into the bed, He resumed his post beside him, crossing his arms and determined not to sleep.

~/\~

“Oh, hello, young one.” Jaskier cocked his head to the side, bird-like. This girl, roiling with a power that could level cities in the blink of an eye, dry oceans with a sweep of her hand, fell thousands with a curl of her wrist.

She curled her lip, flashing teeth. “What do you want?”

“You take after your grandmother, I see,” Jaskier laughed, delighted. “Follow me, little one. I know a man that you must meet.”

“I’m not following you _anywhere_ ,” she barked, brandishing a knife. Steel, with a high polish that made it gleam. “I don’t know you; who are you?”

“Ah! It has been ages since you’ve seen me, hasn’t it?” Jaskier rolled his eyes at himself, and swept into a deep bow. “Jaskier, humble bard and life-long companion of Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher.”

She blinked, knife wavering. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“He’s Fae,” Geralt said, sliding through the trees to stand beside Jaskier. “They cannot lie.”

Ciri gasped, dropping the knife to clap her hands over her mouth. “You- you’re the man from my dreams!”

“Princess,” Geralt said gravely, dropping to one knee.

Ciri barrelled into him, throwing her arms around his neck in a desperate hug.

Smile growing soft, fond, Jaskier started to turn away, only to be caught by a small hand gripping the hem of his cloak.

“You’re the man with the horns, aren’t you,” Ciri said, face turned just enough to watch him. “I thought- I didn’t think it meant _actual_ horns, but if you’re a faerie…”

Dropping his glamour just enough for his horns to show, his teeth to sharpen, Jaskier nodded.

Ciri’s eyes grew wet with tears. “You’ll protect him, won’t you?” she asked, gripping Geralt even tighter and making him grunt with surprise. “He- I know that he needs you.”

“My dear princess,” Jaskier said, going to his knees to brush her hair out of her face gently. “I would protect him with my _life_.”

She smiled, and burrowed back into Geralt’s neck.

Meeting Jaskier’s gaze over the top of her head, Geralt arched a curious eyebrow. He was smiling, faintly, really just a small uplift at the corner of his mouth.

“My love, did you think I would not?” Jaskier asked, and slid his fingertips across Geralt’s cheek. “You are mine until I die, and beyond.”

Geralt caught his hand, pressing a warm kiss to Jaskier’s palm. “My love,” he said slowly, savoring it. In his arms, Ciri giggled slightly, turning to look at them both.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this one, check out my bookmarks! I've got hella reccs by other WONDERFUL artists across possibly a fuckton of fandoms, so I can promise you'll find something to your tastes ;3


End file.
